


I'd Find You Again

by izloveshorses



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Canon, equestrian AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izloveshorses/pseuds/izloveshorses
Summary: Collection of dimya one shots posted to Tumblr, around 1k or less. Mix of canonverse and au :)
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 33





	1. What Endearments Am I Allowed?

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving these here in case anything happens to Tumblr dot com. enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse, 500 words, inspired by a Tumblr post about French terms of endearment and my years as a forgetful French student

“Dima,” Anya huffed, “you’re hogging the blankets.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Dmitry challenged from his warm cocoon, voice muffled by the pillow.

A few seconds of shifting sheets later his head was squashed underneath a foreign pillow. His protests were futile and only earned him a shove to the edge of the bed, his hand on the floor to keep from falling, his laughs shaking the mattress, a rush of cold making the hairs on his legs stand up as the comforter was torn away from him. 

“You can be such a child sometimes.” She was trying to sound stern, he could tell, but she didn’t look very threatening underneath the comfort of all of their blankets. 

Dmitry rolled into her space, annoying as ever. “But that won’t stop you from sticking with me.”

She rolled her eyes but let him back under the covers. “I suppose it won’t, _mon amour.”_

He blinked. Still new at their marriage, he liked learning all of the little terms of endearment she’d test out on him, even if he didn’t know the language. “Dima” was the one she used the most, but every once in a while a French word would come out and he still hadn’t learned enough phrases to understand. Sometimes he asked, other times he didn’t have to know right away. Just hearing the affection in her voice was enough. “What does that one mean?”

She tapped a fingertip to his nose. “My love.”

“I like that one,” he grinned and scrunched his nose.

“Hmm. I think there are better ones to choose from.” 

“Like what? What’s better than ‘my love’?” 

“Well,” she scooted closer, knees brushing his, “there’s _mon ange_ , my angel.”

He laughed. “That one sounds nice. A little flowery for us, though.”

“Agreed.” 

“What about the one you said the other day? When we were coming home from the market?”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “ _Mon cœur_?”

“Yes! I like that one. What’s it mean?”

She pressed her hand to his chest. “My heart.”

His smile spread. “That’s my favorite so far.”

“But it’s not…” she sat up to rest her elbow on her pillow. “It’s not big enough.”

“What do you mean? I think it’s sweet.”

“You’re more than that, though.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Am I?”

“You’re… _mon tout_ ,” she mumbled. 

That was a new one. “What’s that mean?” She stared for a second, the teasing gone from her eyes. Then she rolled over. “Anya, what’s it mean?”

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

“Is it dirty?” He asked with a kiss to her shoulder and a tickle to her side. 

She giggled. “Stop it! No it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

A heavy sigh. She rolled into her back to meet his gaze again. A pause. And then a whisper, “You’re my everything.”

His heart ballooned inside his chest. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and leaned down to kiss right above her eyebrow. And then her nose. And then her lips. He wasn’t good with words when it mattered, but he hoped she understood how much he adored her.

She sighed against his cheek and threaded her fingers through his hair. _“Je t’aime._ ”

“Hey, I know that one!”

She giggled, happy as the sound of a church bell singing, her hands moving to cup his face and brush her thumbs under his eyes, and Dmitry knew nothing would ever compare.


	2. Uncomfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tentative spies/chuck au, 800 words. just keeping this at a drabble for now bc if I were to write a full length au I think it would require some more thought. but for now, this thought wouldn’t leave me alone, so... here.

Dmitry didn’t work well under pressure.

Not when he had a long line of customers at the store to deal with on a holiday, not when the toast popped out of the toaster a little darker than he wanted while he was late for work, and especially not when he had to diffuse a bomb. A bomb with 56 seconds left on the timer.

“Did you flash?” Anya asked him as they gazed down at the massive cylinder and the red digits getting smaller and smaller. A strand of hair had loosened from her ponytail on their way here— he couldn’t look away from the timer in the hopes that the intersect stuck in his brain would do its job and give him the knowledge to solve random problems against his will, but he didn’t have to look at her to know. He had already done his fair share of noticing every detail about her. 

“Obviously not,” he said through gritted teeth, rubbing his temples in a futile act to spark… something.

She huffed and marched forward. “Screw it, get out of here. I’ll try to diffuse it.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not leaving you here!”

“That is an _order_ , Dmitry!” she whipped her head around at him. She had the panel pulled open to reveal a few wires.

He crossed his arms. Irritating her probably wasn’t the best move at the moment but he was a little stressed and a good and healthy argument with Anya always calmed his nerves. “Looks like I’m disobeying.”

That got her. She stood up and pulled her pistol out at him. Months ago when all this spy stuff started, or even a week ago, he would’ve done the logical thing and raised his arms and did as he was told when facing the barrel of a gun and Anya’s glare. But now, more than anything, he was just annoyed. And _angry_. Intoxicatingly angry. “Oh, so we either get blown up or you shoot me? Great plan.”

“Just go!”

“No!”

“You’re the stubbornest person I’ve ever met!” She abandoned the gun and the panel of the bomb to march closer to him.

He stepped forward. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘brave.’”

“Why won’t you just let me do my job?”

“I don’t know, maybe you bring out the worst in me!”

“And you in me!”

One last furious glance at the timer. 7 seconds. He met her eyes again, a little softer, a little more panicked than angry. “Well, it was nice knowing you.” And then he closed his eyes and waited for the end.

But it never came. Instead he felt a tug on the collar of his shirt and a pair of lips on his.

His hands responded before his mind did, pulling her close, bending down while she kept tugging on his shirt collar. The long string of question marks running across his brain straightened into exclamation points when he was finally caught up with what was going on— Anya was _kissing him_ , and it was everything he wanted and more, a violent fight and a flag of peace all in one, his heart pounding while he deepened the kiss and breathed her in. The stress of the day and their argument and the bomb faded away, not even the ticking timer interrupting their moment.

Wait. The ticking actually stopped— it wasn’t just his lovesick stupor messing with his senses after all. Which means the bomb stopped. Shouldn’t they be incinerated by now?

He froze and Anya must’ve had the same thought at the same time because she froze, too, eyes blinking open, slowly dropping back to her heels, her grip on his collar loosening. He was still close enough to feel her breath on his cheek. The silence was almost worse than the ticking, too long and too heavy. “Well,” she breathed, clearing her throat. “Good news is we’re still alive.”

He could only muster a swallow and maybe a nod. He wasn’t sure he could make his body do anything after… that.

“But the bad news is this is kind of an uncomfortable situation.”

He dropped the hand still holding her and ran his fingers through his hair. Whatever emotion he was feeling at that moment definitely was not discomfort. “It’s not too bad on my end.” And, in spite of the stress of the last sixty seconds, he couldn’t help but let a small smile twitch on his well-kissed lips. “Could be worse.”

Anya managed to give him a microscopic smile in return, her eyes big and round and much too vulnerable for a trained spy to allow, betraying a little more of what she was feeling than she probably would’ve wanted, but it didn’t last. 

She turned her head back to investigate what happened with the bomb and he followed her gaze. No matter. This conversation would have to wait until later. For now, they had a job to do.


	3. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern rival professors au, 1.4k. Look I know Christmas is technically over and I already wrote a holiday fic this year but an idea came to me after dinner and... this happened. Enjoy the leftover Christmas vibes!!

To Anya, Christmas was the best time of the year. She loved the unnameable joy in the air, the excuse to spend an exuberant amount of money on her friends and siblings, the endless list of sweets to bake. This was her season. Christmas was a sport to her, and Anya never came close to losing. 

Until this year. 

Her Nanna was out of town for the holidays so she finally said yes to Marfa’s Christmas party invitation. They worked at the university together and Marfa always threw a legendary party at the end of the semester— legendary according to everyone else. But since her usual plans weren’t happening this year, Anya decided to stop by Marfa’s apartment to see what all the excitement was about. 

All was going well for the most part— the apartment was filled to the brim with strangers and familiar faces alike. Anya took her time mingling with the people she knew. It was good to spend time with coworkers outside of the stresses of campus, but there were still too many strangers to be entirely comfortable, and this was definitely not the “grandmother’s party” she was used to. So, predictably, she found her spot on the wall near the foyer, nursing a drink, calculating when she could bow out gracefully. But then a body leaned on the wall next to her and she didn’t have to look up to know he’d be wearing that god-awful smirk.

“Sudayev,” she grumbled by way of greeting. 

“Romanov,” Dmitry said into his drink, “charming as ever, I see.” And then he smiled, that stupid dimple cutting through his cheek, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes, and her insides flipped in anger. 

She didn’t know what exactly started their rivalry, but from his first day at the university as the new history prof, he seemed determined to get underneath her skin. Maybe it was when they started having to share lecture halls, since she taught art history in the same building. They’d fought over prime time slots and she’d cleaned up his messes he’d left behind— how does one wreck a room _that much_ during a history lecture?— and he’d storm in during her lectures to claim she was teaching her students incorrect dates. It got to the point where they’d scream at each other in their offices, so loud, in fact, that the entire history department would sometimes come out into the hall to listen. 

Anya had always wondered what would happen if she ever saw him outside of work. Honestly, she didn’t think she could separate the obnoxious man who threw parties in his lectures and waltzed into her office like it was his own, from the charming smile and broad shoulders in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“I come every year, of course.” He bit his lip over his smile. Idiot. “You can imagine my surprise to see you here for the first time.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think you were the jolly social type.”

“I know a good party when I see one, and I can always count on Marfa to deliver.”

“Hmm.” She took another sip of her drink. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

“I told you, I come every—”

“No not that. Why are you _here?_ Talking to me? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

His eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head. “I came here to ask why you’re drinking eggnog, of all things.”

“Because it’s Christmas?”

“So? That stuff’s nasty.”

“You’re supposed to drink eggnog on Christmas!”

“Why? Is it a rule or something?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She crossed her arms and took another sip. Admittedly, she grimaced at the sour taste, but she hid it with a pleased smile.

“Huh.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I didn’t know Christmas had rules.”

“Then you’re not doing Christmas right.”

He snorted. “Okay, humor me. What other rules are there that I need to know about?”

She paused a moment, deciding if he was just making fun of her or not. Whatever. It wasn’t like he’d use this against her or anything. “It’s not all that complicated. Buying gifts for friends and family, obviously. Decorating the tree. Drinking eggnog and eating turkey and candy. Kissing under mistletoe. Lots of baking.”

“These all sound like traditions to me, not rules.”

“But they’re things you have to do, or it won’t feel like Christmas. Traditions you can put your own spin on, but rules are reliable. They won’t change on you.”

He nodded, as if she made a point. “Now, have you ever broken any of those rules?”

“Nope.” She straightened her back with pride. A silly thing to be proud of, yeah, but it didn’t hurt anyone to be a pro at having holiday spirit.

His grin was wicked. “I bet, by the time you leave, I can get you to break one of those rules.”

She scoffed. “That won’t happen.”

“I can try.”

“I’m not really interested in playing games, Dmitry.”

“Unless you know you’ll win.”

Oh. He really knew what nerves to strike, she’d give him that.

As if on cue, another history professor, Vlad, emerged from the crowd to clap Dmitry on the shoulder and wish them both happy holidays. Then he giggled like a schoolboy and pointed up at the ceiling between them. “Happy holidays, indeed,” he said with a wiggle of his brow, and then he disappeared again, leaving Anya baffled. She paled, realizing what he meant, and when she looked up there it was. Green and pointing down at them, almost mockingly. 

Dmitry was suddenly very interested in his drink. “Okay, I swear I didn’t plan that.”

“Is that why you came over here?” Her face was scarlet now, with embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t figure out.

“Of course I didn’t see the mistletoe! I’m not that disrespectful! My idea was to get you to drink vodka or something stupid, not… this.” he stopped. “Although… this is definitely something you won’t do. Thus I win the bet.”

She hit his shoulder. “How dare you put me in this situation!”

“What’ll it be, Romanov?” he stepped closer, that smirk worse than ever. “Either you kiss me to keep your streak, following this stupid tradition, in front of all these people— well, they aren’t really paying attention, I guess— or you walk away, knowing you lost.”

She huffed. His eyes said he knew she wouldn’t do it. No one was stubborn enough to kiss a man she hated merely to prove a point. 

Maybe that was why she did just that.

She intended for it to only be a quick peck when she pulled him down. Just something to finally shut him up for once. But his lips were so soft, and so was his hair— she was too busy to realize she was kissing him long enough for her hands to trail up all the way from his cheeks to the nape of his neck— so she didn’t want to pull away as soon as she’d planned. And then he hummed, making her stomach twist, and his hands found her waist and pulled her close. Then they slipped underneath her sweater on her back and they were as soft as his lips and it was suddenly very hard to remember why she hated him.

Oh god. She dropped back down to her heels and stepped away and to her relief or dismay he removed his hands. Eyes wide, he rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink, for once not saying a word. It must’ve worked, then. Surprising him.

“I win,” she breathed, and was about to storm away to another corner when she felt a hand snag hers and a jolt through her limbs.

“Anya, wait—” he tugged gently, like a question. She turned to face him expectantly, looking up at his dumbfounded expression, his lashes fluttering, eyebrows high on his forehead. Then he smiled, real and genuine, and it was infectious. “What are your plans for New Years?”

She hesitated before allowing a grin to spread across her face. “Taking you out for a drink.”

His smile widened, that dimple not as stupid anymore, and her heart fluttered in anticipation for the thrill to come. Maybe the holiday season wasn’t meant to be competitive. But despite this year’s close call, Anya never lost.


	4. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse, 1.5k, “missing scene” format. Sometime during Learn to Do It or any time before they leave Petersburg. This came to me fully written as soon as I woke up so... here u go I guess

“Dmitry, let’s get out of here,” Anya muttered, grabbing his wrist. They’d crossed paths at the market after her shift and he told her to stay close until it was time to go home, since the sun was setting and this place was dangerous after dark. 

He glanced down, completely baffled, as they wove through the crowded street. “What’s wrong?”

“See that man over there?” she nodded towards one of the slimy vendors selling antiques. “He’s not a good man.”

“There are plenty of indecent men here.” But he fell into step beside her anyway. “How do you know him?”

She hesitated, wondering how much she wanted to reveal. That encounter definitely wasn’t a memory she wanted to relive. “He stole something from me once. When I first arrived in Leningrad.”

He didn’t speak again until they’d left the square. “What did he take?”

“A silver pendant. The nurses at the hospital gave it to me before I left.”

“Hmm.” He adjusted the satchel on his shoulder. “Did he do anything else to you?”

She swallowed. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

He was silent the entire rest of the way back. But after months of living in close quarters, she could tell by the way his jaw clenched or his fists tightened around his strap that he was stewing in anger. It was a silly thing to be angry about, really. No point in wanting to change what’d already happened. Though she didn’t offer up any other conversation either. 

They spent the evening reviewing the family tree again and their various titles, she and Dmitry bickered until Vlad got annoyed enough to put a stop to it, and Anya went to bed early. The next day went on as usual— she worked until her palms and feet blistered, collected her wages, met Vlad in the palace, cleaned, and otherwise kept herself busy. But Dmitry was later than he normally was. 

The first hour she didn’t think about it. Yes, it was unusual for Dmitry to be untimely, but there were some viable reasons he was held up somewhere. 

She told Vlad as much in the second hour, who was starting to verbalize his concern. They shared a sorry dinner of canned beans and mushrooms, and Anya suggested starting her lessons on etiquette without him, and he welcomed the distraction. 

The third hour was when she started worrying. Curfew had passed and if he hadn’t found a place to hide for the night, he was truly in danger, and several hypotheticals ran across Anya’s mind. What if he was arrested? Kidnapped? Mugged? Drunk at a bar? Dead? 

“Would he run away without us?” She asked Vlad. He was teaching her a card game by the dim light of a lantern on the table. 

He chuckled. “I know you two don’t get along, but he’s loyal.” He placed a face card down and Anya sighed. Gambling could’ve been in her past but it definitely wasn’t something in her future. “Even if he were to run, it wouldn’t be a smart move at this point. Which, if anything, he’s smart.”

Hour four was the worst part. Those hypotheticals turned into very real possibilities, and the thought of what would happen if he actually didn’t come back made her stomach swirl. It wasn’t like she  _ enjoyed _ him, necessarily, but she never wished for anything horrible to happen to him. Selfishly she wondered if she’d be stuck here in this palace if he never came back. Or if all of what she’d been working for was wasted. But those worries weren’t everlasting, so when she was still pacing the living area she realized there was more there than she thought. Maybe it was that, admittedly, he didn’t deserve to be snuffed out like so many others she’d seen over the years. Or maybe she didn’t actually hate him as much as she wanted to, or as much as she tried to. That thought was the most frustrating of all.

“Vlad?” she asked, voice small in the massive space.

“Yes, dear?” He’d picked up a book to read in the low light, but he was clearly unable to focus, constantly shifting himself in his seat, worried for his friend. 

“Do you think I was too mean to him?”

He barked a laugh, the noise making her jump after hours of solemn quiet. “Our boy needs to be put in his place every once in a while, don’t worry.” his laughter quieted but he continued when he noticed she was still looking at him expectantly. “Even so, no. That’s not something you need to be thinking about now.”

The guilt simmered down in her stomach, but the answer still didn’t ease her worry. She fiddled with the fire from her spot on the floor for the millionth time and tossed the last log onto the coals. She knew it was probably premature or unhealthy to think like this, but she couldn’t focus on her own book, so she just hugged her knees and stared at the embers. And waited.

Finally, there was a squeak of the front door and a rush of wind. She and Vlad leapt to their feet in a rush. Vlad saw him first and gave an exuberant holler. “It’s good to see you, my boy!”

When caught sight of him she suddenly felt embarrassed for worrying. Dmitry trudged through the doorway, a little worse for wear, a hand on his lower abdomen, but here and alive. He looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to expect, and now that he was here she wasn’t quite sure what to do, either. So she got angry. Naturally. “Where have you been?!”

“I got held up,” he grunted. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you all right?” Vlad asked, taking his coat.

“Just bruised, nothing serious.”

“It’s past curfew!” Anya was too upset to be compassionate. “I was— Vlad was so worried! You could’ve been arrested or dead in an alley and we’d never know! What were you thinking!” 

“Relax, I’m here now.”

“Don’t tell me to relax!” They’d moved into the kitchen now where he was stepping out of his sopping boots. Vlad’s smile was nearly giddy with relief but she still held her ground. “What could’ve possibly held you up that long?”

He only grinned, tired but proud, and dug into his pocket. “This.”

Her brow furrowed and she stepped closer to look. In his palm was a silver pendant with the imperial seal stamped to the front and an Eiffel Tower on the back, an odd combination of clues. The exact pendant she’d mentioned yesterday. 

It took a moment to piece together the dots. Why he was gone so long. The bruises. The piece of her past and the only gift from the kind nurses she had left in his palm. That meant… he’d put himself in danger, went looking for trouble, just to steal something she’d mentioned offhandedly once?

“I can’t believe that guy still had this,” he started, breaking the silence. “There’s probably nothing else like it. No chain, though.”

She shook her head, swallowing, and finally met his eyes again. “Why?” Why risk his life and everything they’d worked towards for this?

He only shrugged. “I hate thieves who steal without reason.” He grinned again and raised an eyebrow. “You going soft on me?”

She hadn’t noticed there were tears in her eyes and she angrily wiped them away. “No! I’m—” She didn’t know what to think. Her hands still shook with anger at making her feel so worried for so long for something so small, but the enormous gratitude expanded in her chest. At this point she couldn’t tell if her body wanted to throw a punch at that grin or kiss him. She did neither; flinging her arms around his waist instead seemed sufficient enough.

She must’ve surprised him because he froze. After a second, though, she felt awkward hands pat her back, and she pulled away quickly, not meeting his eyes. Then, to cover up whatever just happened, she punched him in the shoulder. 

“Ow!”

“Don’t scare us like that again!”

He laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re welcome.” 

She remembered Vlad was there, who looked incredibly confused and amused. “I’m going to bed,” she told him, too exhausted for anything else. 

On her way out of the kitchen she caught a glimpse of their conversation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

“That was very gentlemanly of you, Dmitry. Are  _ you _ going soft?”

“Be quiet. You know that’s not why I did it.”

“Sure, and what’s next? Flowers? Chocolates?”

Anya smiled to herself, unable to hear the rest. She rubbed her thumb on the side of the pendant, re-memorizing the worn bumps and edges, and tucked it in the pocket of the inside of her coat. It fell with a clack onto her diamond. No, she wouldn’t think too much of any of it, even if it rested against her heart. 


	5. bro are we about to kiss rn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> college au, 1.6k. maybe this will grow into a full fic? remains to be seen what my silly little brain will come up with next lol

“Do you want me to grab you a drink?” Dmitry asked over the roar of the speakers.

“If you let me follow you,” Anya answered. No way was she going to be left standing alone in the middle of a crowded frat house without a defense against a bunch of drunk football players. 

He laughed and tugged her wrist behind him. She swallowed, unable to focus on anything but the warmth spreading from the contact all the way to her heart. 

This party was a bad idea, she decided. Marfa was friends with a few of the guys in this fraternity, but even though Anya did enjoy the occasional tailgate or basketball game or even her sister’s sorority event, frat house parties were a little too much. Dmitry hated them, too, so neither of them ever accepted Marfa’s invitation until now. He suggested it as a joke, and Anya didn’t see any harm in at least checking it out. But only minutes after arriving, she was already overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and the crowd of unfamiliar bodies, already wanting to escape. Wanting it to just be her and Dmitry. 

And maybe she was a little bit in love with him, but that was irrelevant. 

Ugh. they should’ve snuck into the greenhouse on the top floor of the biology building again. The hum of the fans and generators were better sounds than whatever music was playing now.

She’d known him since Freshman year, when he sat behind her in an econ lecture everyone was forced to take, and she’d hated him immediately. To her dismay she found out he was friends with Maria and even her new friend, Marfa, and later discovered he was a barista at the cafe she did her homework. They even lived in the same dorm— there was no escaping his self-absorbed smile and apathetic demeanor. 

But the next year, when she got a job at the library and had to work the closing shifts, he’d unintentionally offered to walk her back home, and something shifted. It was small at first. He was always skateboarding back from the computer lab at that hour after working late on one of his projects and would just so happen to pass the library at the exact time she’d need to cross campus. And then she needed her laptop fixed at one point, and of course he was working in the tech support department, and he made a joke about someone finally asking for something other than connecting their Macbook to the wifi, and… well. She realized underneath all that cockiness and brooding angst, they weren’t so different, even if they did come from completely different backgrounds. She stopped insulting him when they were hanging out with Marfa and he stopped teasing her about being too studious for something not worth her time. She learned why he was so bitter and admired how hard he worked to keep his scholarships and earn money to pay for his tuition, and he made her laugh. Through him she saw a side of the world she’d been ignorant of before, and through her he saw a light he’d been blind to. Slowly, with each shared laugh, each hour spent studying together, each midnight drive to Taco Bell, he sort of grew into her best friend. 

And then, for some reason, this year it changed again. Butterflies would stumble into flight in her stomach when she’d make him laugh or he’d casually snag her hand, and there was that one time he tried to teach her how to skateboard and his hands were on her waist to keep her steady and— well. You get the idea. She pieced the clues together and she wasn’t stupid enough to  _ not _ know what they meant. 

Somehow this boy who acted like he hated the world but would share random facts about the constellations in wonder, who said formal education was a waste of time but aced every project, who pretended like he was invisible in class but secretly knew every answer the professors threw at him, who could drive her  _ insane _ but knew how to read her mind, had slowly crept into her heart, like he’d always belonged there. She’d realized that now. What she didn’t know, however, was what to do about them. So she did nothing. Because she didn’t know what she would do if she lost him. 

And here she was, standing against the wall at the edge of a party, unable to hide from the truth she was denying, to avoid the way her heart skipped a beat in her chest every time he even stood next to her. 

“So, what now?” Dmitry asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

She feigned a smile. “I don’t know the protocol here.” 

“Well, we already said hello to Marfa, the person who invited us.”

“Check.”

“We have our drinks,” he waved his solo cup as punctuation.

“Yes.”

“You’re sporting a crew neck with the school logo, making you fit right into the preppy cliche.”

“It’s comfortable and it’s festive!” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled behind his cup. Of course he’d teased her about that. Tonight he was wearing a flannel over a white t-shirt, the spitting image of the I’m-rebellious-but-I’m-still-vain-enough-to-care-about-my-appearance look. “But what’s next?”

She frowned. “Now, this is the part where we go dance, but the music is… bad.” 

“That’s fair.”

“Or, alternatively, I think this could be the part where we mingle, but I don’t know anyone here.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

She looked up at him then. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you at football games and stuff, you’re good at making friends.” He shrugged. “Or just… finding something to talk about and including everyone. I used to envy you for that, you know.”

She snorted. “You’re good at talking to people too.”

“Yeah, but not like… you know. I’m good at being charming, but you genuinely like people.” She didn’t know how to respond so she didn’t, making him shake his head. “Just accept the compliment already, Romanov.”

She grinned. “I guess I can’t think of a reason anyone else here is worth my time.”

He tilted his cup back. After a quiet moment passed he spoke again. “Can I ask you something?” She glanced up, waiting for whatever question he had for her. “Why waste your time with me, then?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think you’re a waste of time.”

“Yeah, but you could get along with literally anyone else here, and you choose to stand against this wall with me to complain instead.”

Her throat tightened. Couldn’t he see it? Wasn’t it written all over her face? She’d sit in a walmart parking lot with him if he asked. The words that would ruin their friendship bubbled up and she was the world’s worst liar and there was no hiding from those dark eyes of his and the silence was growing and— 

“This is the part where I get some air,” she stuttered, stumbling outside before he could respond or see what she was thinking.

She found a quiet spot on the wooden deck in the backyard, the breeze sending a chill down her back. She set her drink down and fiddled with the cuffs of her sleeves that stretched long past her fingertips. This party was definitely a terrible idea— now her head was cloudy and she almost slipped up her words and there were too many people around. Maybe sneaking into the greenhouse again would’ve also been a terrible idea, because who knew what she would’ve done if she’d been alone with him, but at least no one would be watching her fall apart like she was now. 

“Anya, are you okay?”

Oh no.

Dmitry’s footsteps fell behind her and she couldn’t bear to turn around yet. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”

“No, you didn’t!” she turned then, hoping her resolve wouldn’t crumble and that he would let her be. “I’m fine.”

He saw right through her. Taking her hand, he said, “We can go, if you want.”

“No, I’m fine.”

He nodded, and her eyes fell to the hand enveloping hers, keeping her warm. “I’ll leave you alone, then. If you’re okay.”

But the thought of his hand pulling away made her panic. “Don’t go.”

She didn’t have to look up to know he was confused. But he stepped closer again, back to his original spot, and then another step. And another. His other hand found her freezing one and her shoulders relaxed.

Still staring at his hands, she mumbled, “You’re never a waste of time. Not to me.”

When she risked a glance up at him the column of his throat bobbed. His eyes searched hers and she was too tired to look away and hide, and when he found whatever it was he was looking for he smiled, a quiet one that only creased his dimples a little bit. And then to her shock he asked, “Is this the part where we kiss?”

Her heart tripped over itself like it was falling down the stairs. She blinked rapidly, her brain not prepared for this tonight. “You tell me.”

His grin spread, and she almost laughed at herself for thinking she once hated it. But then he leaned in and all thoughts that had nothing to do with the way his lips tasted or the way his hand felt under her sweatshirt on her back or how soft his hair was between her fingers or how sturdy his chest was under her palm were no longer important. No, nothing mattered now in this moment, except the inexplicable happiness spreading from her chest down to every tip of her limbs, so much that she couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped her lips into his smiling mouth, because she was kissing Dmitry and she was a little bit in love with him and he was kissing her back. 

She made a mental note to thank Marfa later for the invitation to the party. 


	6. country boy i love u

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern au, 1.7k, not to be dramatic but all of my training has prepared me for city boy dmitry and weird horse girl anya so buckle up

Dmitry wasn’t good with animals.

Or dirt. Though, dirt was something he was more familiar with, living in the city streets and all. But animals? Especially  _ big _ animals? Terrifying. Unpredictable. Not recommended. 

You could imagine his delight when, after another arrest, he was placed at a horse farm out in the middle of nowhere to fulfill his community service hours. 

He couldn’t figure out why they needed his help. The breeding farm seemed to be pretty efficient, considering how nice and clean the barn was with its crisp white fences, loads of stablehands running around, the lawn an unnaturally bright shade of green. The manager hardly seemed to know what to do with him either when he showed up bright and early every day, too busy to really show him how to do whatever he was told to do. She just handed him a rake and a shovel and tossed him into a smelly stall and left. Or stuck him in front of a wheel-barrow and pointed him in a vague direction. Sometimes he was tasked with mechanical repairs of some of the equipment, which he was more comfortable with, but usually… he was thrown right into the path of some scary animals. And people. 

The family who owned the place were pretty wealthy, clearly. The kids were obviously spoiled rotten, expecting their horses to be saddled and ready before their rides, not taking the responsibility for grooming afterwards, leaving a mess of tack in the aisle for him to clean up. He hadn’t really interacted with them much but could feel their judgemental stares burning a hole in the back of his head. Here he was, the exotic, dangerous, explosive disaster, who would never amount to anything more than a screw-up. Come look.

He wished he was in jail instead.

Today he was neck deep in mucking stalls, eyes watering as he shoveled through a particularly nasty one, hating every second and hating his father for dying and leaving him on this bottomless path and hating everyone who put him here, when he felt a tickle at the top of his head. When he looked up he jumped out of his skin— a horse in the next stall had reached its head over and started sniffing him. But, more particularly, there was a giggle.

“She likes you,” the voice said. 

He spun towards the door to see a girl leaning against the railing. The youngest daughter, he’d gathered. She was the only one he’d ever really interacted with and it didn’t go well— she’d snapped at him not to light a cigarette in a barn and maybe he was a  _ tad _ annoyed that his one reprieve of this god-forsaken place was literally snuffed out. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard her approach. “I don’t think I even knew it was here.”

“Clearly.” She slid the door open. “You were talking to yourself and she was curious.”

He frowned. “Or she wanted to bite my head off.”

Another laugh. “No! Luna’s a big softy. Come here.”

“Oh, I’m good.” He waved the handle of his shovel. “I’m serving my community.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can take a break for one second. Or are you too scared?”

“I’m not—” she quirked a brow and he swallowed. “... scared.”

“Come on,” she grabbed his wrist and tugged him out of the stall and he was immediately relieved by the lack of smell. “I’ll show you.” Two steps over to the left and she was opening the occupied stall door and stepping inside. He slowly came closer to the railing, watching. Despite her small size the girl approached this half-ton animal like it was a bumble bee, cooing all the way, hands moving over the gray coat with confidence and familiarity. Now that he could see the horse in its entirety he noticed the belly was… swollen? Was it supposed to be that round?

“She’s gonna drop her foal any day now,” the girl said, answering his unspoken question. “That’s why she’s in here in the middle of the afternoon instead of the pasture.”

He nodded, still watching the animal with caution. 

“You can come in if you want,” the girl said casually. “You’ve been here for weeks now, surely you’ve gained some confidence by this point.”

“Actually, this is the closest I’ve been to one.”

“Really?” She stepped closer to him, the wall of the stall separating them, and she pointed at the animal’s head. “Okay, see her ears? They’re facing the side, which means she’s relaxed. If she was as grumpy as you,” she stepped back to the horse and pinned the ears flat against its neck with her hands, “they’d look like this.”

She released the ears and the horse shook its head indignantly. He allowed himself a small smile. 

“And her head is hanging low, and her back leg is resting. That means she’s totally chill and the chances of her wanting to bite your head off are slim.”

He met her eyes again, startlingly blue. Why was she so intent on getting him near her? But she did make a point, when he thought about it. “Okay.”

She grinned and pulled the stall door open a little wider. He stepped through, straw crunching under his ruined sneakers, and closed the door behind him, still keeping his distance. The large eyes were curious but sleepy, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

“Wanna touch her?”

He glanced down at his hands. His knuckles were still bruised from his last fight, a white scrape scarring his palm, and he saw nothing but danger. Tools of mistakes.

But a smaller hand circled his wrist and pulled him nearer, laying his palm gently onto the soft hair on the base of its neck. He blinked down and met her gaze before glancing away again. When nothing bad happened he stroked lightly for a few minutes over the hair and strong muscles. 

“Wanna see something cool?” The girl asked. He nodded and she took his hand again, letting it glide all the way over the animal’s rib cage and to the swollen part of its stomach. “You feel it?” He frowned, unsure of what she was asking, when he felt it and gasped. A small tap against his palm. The baby had kicked. He met her eyes and grinned, the first genuine smile of his in months. 

“Okay,” he admitted, “that was cool.”

“Isn’t it!”

The horse sneezed and he yanked himself back. When he was sure there were no signs of danger he returned to his spot, a little embarrassed by his own reflexes.

“You’re kinda jumpy.”

“You get jumpy when you live the way I’ve lived,” he snapped before he could think about it. 

The next minute was too quiet for his taste. Maybe he’d already ruined it. She stepped away and he almost panicked when she walked out of the stall. “Wait, where are you—”

“Relax, I’m just getting something.” She pulled a couple of brushes out of a basket and held them up for emphasis. “Since we’re in here.” He dropped his shoulders. When she came back inside she shoved his hand into a brush. “Serve your community.” He snorted and nodded, but he still must’ve looked confused because she placed her hand over his again, guiding it, and he could only focus on the coolness from the hard brush under his palm contrasting with the warmth from where she met his skin. “Brush in the direction her hair is growing.” 

When he made a few strokes on his own she nodded, passing a test, and left him while she worked on the other side. He tried to imitate her long and confident strokes, watching the hair and dirt float in the air. He cleared his throat. “I don’t see you in here very often.”

“I’m in the barn a lot more than you think.”

“Really?”

She pointed to the hayloft above the stalls across from them. “Up there, usually. It’s a good reading spot.” Like he’d know a good reading spot from a bad one. “Or outside in the sun. Or riding. Or in here. It’s just… a good place to think.”

“Hmm.” He wanted to scoff and ask what a girl like her had to think about that required this kind of quiet, but her voice sounded genuine, and she’d been so kind to him. Nothing like their first meeting, he thought. They certainly hadn’t started off on the right foot, and she must’ve wanted to make amends. He wondered what changed. “Why are you helping me?”

For a moment it was just the sound of bristles. And then, “Everyone deserves a chance.”

Well, that was a loaded answer. At least she didn’t say she pitied him. “The only thing I seem to be good at lately is messing up every chance I get, so,” he laughed bitterly. “Steer clear.”

“Well,” she circled around to his side of the horse holding out her hand for him to place his brush, “you haven’t messed this up yet.”

He ducked his head. Her eyes were too bright, too curious, too understanding for him to look at. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

“Learning is a good start. See?” He hadn’t realized his hand was resting on the horse’s shoulder until she pointed it out. “It’s already making a difference. Maybe I can show you the ropes around here.”

His back straightened, smelling a challenge. It wasn’t like he had anything to prove— he’d lived enough years on his own now to know he was tough enough— but maybe he’d met his match when it came to having a competitive streak. What did he have to lose? The car he slept in? His fabulously decorated permanent record? “I’d probably just slow you down.”

She stepped even closer. “Or you could learn to keep up.”

He raised a brow, finally letting a grin spread over his face. When he nodded once she mirrored his expression. Then she backed away, leaving him in the stall. “See you around, city boy.”

He watched her until she was out of sight, a smile lingering on his lips. Okay, maybe jail was overrated. 


End file.
